


Dad Jokes

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [264]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Post-CA:CW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:58:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>cosmictuesdays asked for Scott, Clint, and dad jokes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dad Jokes

It starts on the tanker.  Natasha, somehow, from wherever she was lurking, had managed to divert a gas tanker without anyone knowing, but their part of the deal was to stay below decks, out of sight of anyone and everything, until they made port in three days time.

That meant they had nothing to do but watch the grainy, tiny old TV jammed in the corner of the crew mess, read three-week out of date magazines and newspapers, and talk.  There wasn’t even enough room to exercise below decks, and Steve was so worried about everyone going stir crazy, he didn’t even see it coming.

Scott had a kid, a daughter, and he and Clint had bonded like a couple of bubbeh over stories of scabbed knees and trees climbed.  Wanda had backed off quickly and buried her face in a book, and Sam was pretending to nap, but Steve was always too curious for his own good.

“What’s her name?” he had asked.  Ten minutes later, he knew every amazing fact and detail of Cassie’s short life.  Steve had staggered off, shell-shocked, before Clint could start one-upping daughter stories.  He didn’t realize it was a warning until it was too late.

 *

Steel ships got cold in the evening, all the warmth radiating out from the hull plates beneath their feet.  Wanda shivered, her hands flexing like she was instinctively reaching for her shawl.  It hadn’t been in the gear they’d liberated from their prison, and Steve knew she was feeling the loss of the small piece of comfort, of _home_.  “Cold?” Clint asked.

Wanda nodded.

Scott glanced over.  “Find a corner?”  he grinned like he was holding it in as Wanda frowned.  “They’re always 90 degrees.”

Wanda rolled her eyes as Scott and Clint highfived across the table.

 * 

There was a small porthole near the galley, rusted shut and milky with salt spray, but if you pressed your nose right up to the glass, you could see the world outside.  By unspoken agreement, they’d fallen into a rota of who got the nominal window seat.  

Clint sighed, sitting back as Bucky passed him a mug of bad coffee.  “Well, at least the ocean’s friendly,” he said with a shrug.

Sam groaned, still looking a little green around the gills.  This close inshore, the chop had changed from the roll of the deep ocean to a nauseating bob.  “How can you say that?”

Clint smiled.  “It keeps waving at us.”

Sam threw his pillow at Clint’s head.

* 

They made it off the dock without incident.  Natasha was waiting, sitting in a truck that had seen better decades.  On the passenger seat was a bag with new IDs, clothes, everything they would need for the trip overland.

There was no shield.  Steve rolled and flexed his fingers and reached instead for a baseball cap.

The road out of town was rough, the few signs of settlement falling away behind them as Natasha pointed them north.  “Are we heading to Moscow?” Clint asked.

Scott scowled.  “It’d take us forever.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed a warning in the rear view mirror.  Clint ignored her.  “There’s no point _Russian_  into things.”

Natasha glanced over to where Wanda was sitting in the passenger seat.  “Would  you mind?”

A flash of red fire flickered between the Clint and Scott as they were heading in for a high five.  They yelped, and fell silent.

 *

Wakanda was like nothing Steve could imagine.  He drifted, feeling lost now that Bucky was back on ice.  He had no shield, no purpose, no idea what to do next.  He’d lost his anchors, and the gently glowing white walls made it feel like he was bobbing on some unseen tide.

Down the hall, he heard voices speaking English, and drifting that way.

“No, listen.  Why was the big cat disqualified from the race? Because it was a cheetah!"  There was a thud and a muffled yelp.  “I didn’t think kings punched people themselves.  Don’t you have, like, staff to do that?”

Steve’s world span and reorientated on the right axis.  With a soft chuckle he’d deny if they ever heard him, Steve strode down the hallway towards his team.


End file.
